


something to fill the emptiness

by nightofdean



Series: this is what i become [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, if angels need souls to power up, some fucked up shit, what about demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:57:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightofdean/pseuds/nightofdean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>of demons, contracts, and souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something to fill the emptiness

The night air is silent and steady, quiet. Nestled within the quiet is a respectable farmhouse, large but not too large. What would have been described by certain persons as ‘white-picket’, normal ‘american pie life’.

And it is.

Several miles away the atmosphere crackles, displacing the air, caused only by the sudden unnatural appearance of two men. One impeccably dressed, the other wearing a blood soaked t-shirt.

The well dressed man takes a step forward, watching the farmhouse. Crowley, reviews the days events in his mind. Castiel. Sam. Gadreel. Metatron. Dean. His attention returns to his, _newest demonic soldier_? He wasn’t sure himself.

Dean stared (glared) at Crowley, which was _surprising_. The King of Hell had expected resistance from the ex-hunter by now. Dean stood unflinchingly still not even blinking or breathing. It was unnerving.

It was habit at first for a demon to blink, fidget or even breath. Simple human habits idiosyncrasies, but Dean wasn’t, at all.  

Crowley turned his back. He felt his coat. Crowley _sighed_ , the reassuring shape of the blade against his chest.

The King shook himself and made his way to the farmhouse. Crowley checked his watch, a _tsk_ emitted from his throat. It was three in the morning and he had a contract to collect.

Crowley didn’t want his client to get too _comfortable._

And his new charge too hungry.

////

Crowley watched in mild disgust as the award winning _trophy hunter_ pleaded for his life, even going so far as to grip the King of Hell’s pant legs and sob into them. He was seconds away from calling the dogs and have them do their worst. When the crying hunter was thrown across the room roughly, very roughly.

Dean had finally decided to move. Crowley noted however that it was very stiff and robotic, like the ex-hunter was having trouble controlling his body.

Dean straddled the hunter, expression blank, movements determined. His chest pushed against the helpless hunter, whom struggled. Dean grabbed the man’s jaw stilling the man’s protests and curses. He crushed the man’s mouth, his fingers digging into already bruised flesh. The man’s jaw fell loose, crushed. The hunter wept, tears running down his face, certain of his fate.

Crowley watched, having seen this ritual before. Having done it before.

Dean hovered over the hunter so close that his lips were nearly touching the others. His lips puckered and he inhaled. The hunter beneath him bucked, Dean’s fingers dug deeper, holding the dying man still. As Dean inhaled he felt the soul of the man leave him and come toward him.

The hunter stopped struggling and Dean saw the life force bright white hover between his open lips before he swallowed it whole.

Dean raised himself up, then as if remembering his manners wiped his face delicately.

Without saying a word, Crowley led the way out. This was after all the reason they had visited the ‘hunter’. Several steps behind Crowley, Dean smoothly followed.


End file.
